


Alcatraz Island

by 90snjh



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1960s, Prison, Psychopath Behavior, Serial Killer, Sociopathic Harry, i'll add more tags and characters later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3527030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/90snjh/pseuds/90snjh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles, inmate #594 of Alcatraz Federal Penitentiary, is one of the worlds most gruesome serial killers of his time, thrown on an island with people just as dangerous, if not more than.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rock

**Author's Note:**

> i really hope everything is accurate because i had to look up a lot about the justice system and the time period and serial killer trials and disorders and shit for this soooo idk man.

The boat rocked over the rough waves of the water, forcing Harry's body to sway and nearly slip off the bench he sat on, with no way of keeping himself in place besides to plant his feet strongly on the ground, due to the inability of using his hands, being constrained behind his back with metal handcuffs. 

It was September 13, 1961, and a conveniently stormy day at that. Harry had kissed goodbye to San Francisco Bay and boarded the rusty old ship in which he was sure would sink before it even made it to the island; or at least he wished it would. After eight whole months of constantly sitting in court after his arrest, Harry had finally been declared legally sane and guilty on seventeen counts of murder, though he thought otherwise and pleaded insane and not guilty. 

Harry was the youngest serial killer at the time, being eighteen when he slaughtered his first victim a few years back. Everyone thought he was the cutest thing ever, that is until he took the title as America's most brutal serial killer of all time. However, he had long, chestnut curls in which he pushed back with one side behind his ear and emerald eyes with pupils that were always oddly blown out, resembling the eyes of an entranced cat. He had a worry line that shown between his dark eyebrows, as a result of frowning too often. It was mostly prominent in court, when the cameras would zoom in on him leaning back in his chair, concentrated and playing with the silver cuffs that restrained his hands, listening closely to everyone who spoke with uncomfortable eye contact and swallowed dry lips. He also had too many tattoos to count, another reason he attracted the ladies. The one the newspapers made the biggest deal about was the black cross on his hand, complaining about how ironic it was, yet saying it was there for a reason after Harry spoke in court, the minute before he was sentenced to life without parole, and his speech went like this: 

'I just want to apologize to the families who have lost their sons, brothers, nephews, uncles, and etc. because of my gruesome acts. I know my apology doesn't mean anything, and I don't expect it to change anything, because it won't and I'm fine with that, but I want you to know I am sorry. If I could take my own life, to bring back the seventeen lives I've ripped from this earth, I would do it in a heartbeat...I would do it in a heartbeat.'

Even Harry himself wasn't so sure if that was him speaking for himself or him speaking for the cameras, to show the people watching at home that Harry Edward Styles was no incompetent fool that lacked ability to feel regular human emotions, because he knew damn well he felt every single emotion possible over the span of those eight months. He knew he felt joy when he was finally arrested, January 13, when his last victim escaped out of the window and flagged down a police car, leading to the discovery of Harry's apartment and what was found in it. Bodies, parts of bodies, strange and bizarre tools that not even he knew the names of, photographs and so much more. 

'It was a compulsion. A god damn compulsion. I don't know how else to put it, you see. It didn't satisfy me completely, so maybe I was thinking taking one more life will. Then after I finished the job, and the feeling was still buried deep inside of me and eating me from the inside out, I thought that maybe one more time would do the trick, and the numbers started growing and growing and just got out of control, as you can see.'

Was another statement from him in court, because he wanted to stop, he really did. He wanted to stop before he even started. He never wanted to pick up that innocent hitchhiker and take him back to his place, treat him with respect before bashing his brains in once the poor man decided it was time to leave. It was a hunger. A hunger that could never be satisfied even after seventeen times of trying and if he hadn't been caught, who knows how many more times there would've been after that.

He was an animal. 

He should've saw this coming when he was only seven, picking up roadkill on his way home from school and stuffing it in his book bag, along with his schoolwork, then taking it out into the backyard once he got home, dissecting the remains then burying what he didn't want to keep. The rest going into little clear jars, in which he would place on his shelf and his parents never bothered to worry. Though, when they did question him, he would respond with his raspy little voice, 'Mrs. Burke brings them to me from home. She says it's a good idea for me to find a hobby such as collecting. It makes my brain grow.'

Bullshit. Utter bullshit. 

It made his brain grow into one of a sociopath. 

Or that one time he broke his classmates arm on the playground behind the jungle gym, 'He fell off the monkey bars by himself, no one was even around him.' is what he told the principal, before leaving the office and whispering into the poor kids ear, 'Open your mouth and I'll break your other arm.'

The boy never did open his mouth, instead he transfered schools and Harry never saw him again. 

Growing up, Harry was very alone and isolated, having no friends until sophomore year of high school, leaving him with nothing but his own thoughts and fantasies. Fantasies of often control and violation, fantasies he would eventually make a reality.


	2. The New Guy

The boat ride must've only been fifteen minutes, yet to Harry it felt like it had been an hour, at least. The sound of the waves crashing against the boat, and the constant movement put Harry in a daze, staring wide-eyed at the middle of the dirty floor, up until he heard the door open. 

"Styles." A loud, intimidating voice spoke, piercing through the silence as Harry lifted his head up towards the direction of the metal door, "Let's go." 

With an exhausted sigh, Harry stood up, licking his lips as he took his time standing up and walking over to the door; all before being grabbed harshly by the bicep and forced to move faster. Outside the cabin, the rain poured and only added to the commotion of the island, between the prison guards surrounding the dock, yelling, and the waves crashing against the rocks.

"So, this is Alcatraz, eh?" Harry questioned, slightly yelling over the rain in an unimpressed tone. He knew damn well it was Alcatraz, he only wanted to piss the old prison guard off, who was nearly ripping his arm from his socket. 

"No speaking." The prison guard demanded and Harry's jaw clenched. 

He struggled to keep up with the guard, pacing behind him and often tripping over his own feet. They were close to the wooden ramp before the guards hat flew off from the high winds, forcing him to let go of Harry's sore arm and chase after it. 

"You lost your hat." Harry yelled, flashing a smug smile as he watched the fat ass struggle to run and catch his stupid, awful looking hat. 

He turned his attention forward, looking at the guards at the bottom of the ramp who faced the other direction, probably awaiting his arrival. With one more glance back at the old guy, he ran to the side of the boat, lifting one leg over it and balancing on it between both legs. He was only seconds away from swinging his other leg over to jump down into the water before he was grabbed by the back of the neck and pulled down onto the deck, hitting the slippery surface with a grunt and a loud thump. 

"Get up." A British accent spoke from above Harry, who rolled onto his back with his eyes squeezed shut, sucking air through clenched teeth because his shoulder had broke his fall, and he was almost positive there would be a yellowing bruise on it before nightfall. He was pulled up to his feet by his arms, standing in front of yet another prison guard, "Did you really expect to be able to jump in that water and actually make it? With your hands restricted like that? You would've drowned within minutes if your body wasn't slammed against those rocks first-" 

"I know. I wasn't trying to make it." His voice lacked any tone, and he spoke with his wet curls plastered on the corner of his pink lips as he rolled his sore shoulder backwards. He looked at the man's name tag, which stated 'L. Payne' and he was desperate to comment on his last name, but was able to contain himself. 

The guard knitted his eyebrows together, "Then why did you get up- oh." 

Harry raised his eyebrows, glad he didn't have to explain himself any further. It should've been obvious. He'd rather jump to his death now rather than be beaten to death inside a cold cell by another inmate, or worse, "Why are you talking to me as if I were your friend? You're a prison guard. You're suppose to be harsh." 

The young man laughed, as if it were funny, but Harry was being completely serious, "Only the old ones. I'm just starting out, but I suppose I'd better act hostile towards you before I lose my job." With that, he had Harry's forearm in his strong hand, dragging him off the deck and down the ramp. The other prison guards stared at Harry as he walked by, as if he was an oddity, or a celebrity of some sort; but after how many times he's been featured on the news he almost could be considered one, for all the wrong reasons. 

It took about ten minutes to get up to the reception building, which was attached to the main cells. Harry was driven up on the back of an open 1950 Willys Jeep, which was painted a faded army green color. Upon arriving to the reception center, he received an orientation packet, which provided information on all the tests he would have to take, behavior and what not. The intake process was long and boring. 

"Okay, and one, two..." 

The flash of the camera nearly blinded Harry, white spots covering his vision long enough to make him lose his balance during his next directions. 

"Put the plate up on your shoulder and turn to the left." ... "Your other left." 

Harry rolled his eyes but was quick to whip his body around, posing for the second and last photograph. After that was over with, he pressed his thumb down against a couple sheets of paper for thumbprints, which went by quickly. 

He walked along side of the same, young prison guard from earlier, who held a clipboard in his hands and was marking things off with a pen. Harry, being as nosey as he is, was peering over the man's shoulder, attempting to look at the paperwork but was never able to get a good look at it. He was ushered into a room by the guard, who nodded to the man who sat at a desk before closing the door behind Harry. The older man behind the desk gestured at the chair in front of him, in which Harry was quick to sit down in, holding onto the arms of the chair till his knuckles turned white. 

"Relax, this is just an interview, the fourth step to the intake process." He shoved his glasses up his nose as Harry relaxed his shoulders, "Let me start with, what is your name?" 

"Harry Edward Styles." He responded, glancing over at the security who mad-dogged him from the corner of the room. 

"How old are you, Harry." 

Harry hesitated, having to think about it for a moment, "Twenty one." 

"Do you have any tattoos?" 

"Too many." 

"Do you have any scars?" 

"The inner side of my bicep." 

"And how did you get that scar?" 

Harry adjusted himself in his seat, "My second to last, uh, victim turned the knife on me and sliced me open pretty bad." 

He watched as the man nodded, scribbling something down on a piece of paper on his desk. The rest of the interview was nerve wracking for no reason at all, with questions concerning demography, emergency contact information, and the whole lot. Before leaving the room, he was told he would have to return to the same room tomorrow afternoon during working hours for a physical and mental health examination. Fun.

-

Harry walked behind the younger guard once again, burying his nose in his packet, trying to take everything in because he wasn't going to lie, it was a lot of information, too much. He wasn't concentrating much on it either, considering he was just using it as an excuse to ignore the rowdy prisoners that clanged against the metal bars and whistled cat calls. He tried to pretend he wasn't bothered by it, puffing out his chest and ignoring them, but in reality he was crumpling from the inside out. He had just arrived and he was already looked at like some kind of...toy. He had to dodge arms that reached between the bars to grab at him, which scared him the most. 

 

And this was only his first day.


	3. Channel 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has an interview with Channel 9 news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i did base harry off of jeffrey dahmer just a tad. a modified version.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the camera, glancing back and forth between it and the man behind it. 

"Harry, if you could please talk to the interviewer when we start, and not to the cameras, thank you." A random man informed from in back of both the camera man and the interviewer. Both Harry and the interviewer sat in what seemed to be 'directors' chairs, wooden with the canvas seat. It was odd and Harry felt like he was going to fall through the canvas at any given moment. 

"Why are you turning me out to be a celebrity?" Harry spoke up, glancing back in forth between the two men that stared at him as if he was one of the worlds greatest actors. 

"We're not-" 

"I've been on the news for months. I'm sure everyone is sick of me. Hell, I'm sick of me. You know what I'm also sick of? Being publicized. I have a god damn problem; I murder people for fucks sake, why are you constantly showing my mug on other peoples television sets? Is it because I'm handsome? I'm handsome and I skin people alive? Does that spark an interest now? The curiosity of someone as beautiful as me being so god damn hideous inside. Is that interesting to you, you sick fucks?" Harry's voice was calm, casual, as if he was discussing the weather over a cup of coffee. He was tugged off his seat and to the corner of the room while the two men discussed what had just happened between themselves. 

"Would you be decent for one fucking second?" Payne whispered furiously through clenched teeth. Though, Harry no longer needed to refer to him as 'Payne' anymore, considering he caught a glance at his clipboard yesterday and saw that his name was Liam. Liam James Payne, to be exact. Harry responded by shifting his weight to his left leg and folding his arms, raising his nose into the air slightly, "I'm being serious, Styles." 

"I'm sick of-" 

"Yeah, yeah. I don't need another speech from you. Just get out there and act like you're a people person for just a couple minutes, please? Don't make me look bad." Liam practically begged, though he tried to make it seem otherwise. 

Harry turned on his heel and went to sit back down, smiling at the interviewer he had just cussed out. 

"Are you ready, Mr. Styles?" The interviewer questioned, flipping through papers on his lap.

"As ready as I'll ever be." Harry spoke through a painful smile. 

"One, two, three, and we're on." The camera man spoke and Harry had to try his hardest to not throw up all over the camera. 

"Good afternoon, Harry, how're you doing?" The interviewer started. 

Harry's jaw clenched and he responded as he chewed the inside of his cheek, "Fantastic." 

"Let me start by asking you, how did all of this start? What was your early life like?" 

Harry cleared his throat, he always hated this question, he hated stepping back into the past, thinking of ways he could've prevented any of this from happening, "Well, as a young boy, I- well, okay, I took biology, in the sixth grade, and in that course we had to dissect a fetal pig. I remember taking the remains home with me, poking at them and dissecting them till you could hardly tell they were anything anymore. It was just an intense, uh, interest of mine. I suppose it could've been turned into a normal hobby like- like taxidermy, but obviously it didn't. Eventually it turned into...it turned into me taking home road kill, or actually killing animals to take home and, uh, observe." 

Harry could practically hear the comments coming from people watching at home; 'He's sick', 'What a creep'. Nothing new. 

"And what would you do with the dead animals, Harry?" 

"Take them into the woods behind my house. Slit them open." 

"Could you explain what you were thinking-" 

"No. No." Harry interrupted then paused for a second, playing with his lip between his index finger and thumb, "It was just...it was very mystifying to me, what the insides of animals looked like. It was- yeah, it was exciting to see." 

"Tell me about your growing urge to take someone's life." 

"It wasn't like that. It wasn't- I was drinking a lot during that time, before I had even thought about killing someone, I would have fantasies. These fantasies would, uh, keep my need to be fulfilled at bay, until that just didn't cut it. I went out one night, found a hitchhiker, picked him up and took him back to my apartment. He was a really sweet young man, very charming. Everything was fine, until he wanted to get up and leave and I told him he should stay, that we could find something fun to do and he told me he really needed to go. I was on the verge of a mental breakdown, I tackled him to the ground and gripped onto his hair, then somehow he- he overpowered me and had me beneath him by the throat, and said he needed to go. While he was walking down the hall to the door, I picked up a dumbbell and hit him over the head with it. I didn't mean to- I didn't-" Harry's voice shook and he took a deep breath, "excuse me." He wiped his eyes and exhaled with a long sigh. 

"Whenever you're ready." 

"No, I'm yeah- go ahead. I'm not- yeah, just continue." 

"What made you come to a point where you thought it was time to end this once and for all; to take responsibility." 

Harry hesitated, "I want to start by saying, don't blame my parents for what has happened. It's not their fault, none of this is their fault. They were very loving, caring people, a happy couple, none of this has anything to do with them. It's not right at all to blame them for what has happened, it's not- they had nothing to do with it, they had no idea- they had no knowledge of it and uh...that angers me. There comes a point where a person has to- has to be accountable for what he's done. You can't go- you can't go making excuses, uh, blaming other people...or other things. It's all my fault and I take full responsibility for what has happened." 

"That's all we have time for, thank you, Harry." 

Harry smiled until he saw the red light go off on the camera then he got up and shook the man's hand before turning around to exit the room. 

"You did great, thank you." Liam spoke quietly as he rubbed Harry's shoulder while they walked down the bright hallway of offices to the main cells, "You alright?" 

Harry bit his lip, waiting a couple moments before shaking his head and completely losing it. He grabbed onto the front of his own shirt with both hands, lifted it over his face, becoming hysterical and soaking the fabric. Liam just rubbed his back, looking around making sure there was no one else around, and there wasn't, as Harry leaned against the wall with his body convulsing with sobs.

Nothing was said, by either of them, because Liam knew it was best to just let him let it all out before trying to calm him down. It wasn't part of his job to take care of crying inmates, but there was something about Harry that made him want to take him under his wing and care for him, and it was odd. 

Harry's cries literally hurt him, just hearing them hurt him. Mostly because it proved to him that this whole 'tough guy' act Harry played was all just a facade, hiding what was really behind that smug smile he always had on. 

Frustration and guilt.


	4. Hobbies

It's been a week since Harry's first day and he's pretty much gotten use to the way things worked on the island. 

At 6:50 A.M. the morning whistle would sound and all prisoners were forced to rise and get dressed before lining up to march into the mess hall. They were allowed only twenty minutes to eat before being marched out and lined up for their work assignments. Labor would include laundry, kitchen work, garden work, tailoring, etc. They worked until 11:40 A.M. where they had their last meal of the day, then went back to work till 6:00 P.M, in which they were marched back to their cells and were allowed free time. Some were allowed to play ball or bridge out on the fields, but Harry wasn't a part of that "some". He was forced to go back to his cell and sit there and do nothing, considering it was too early to sleep. The labor wasn't so bad, inmates had multiple, eight minute breaks in which they could have a smoke but weren't allowed to crowd around. Harry had yet to make any friends, or 'friends', which he was fine with, he didn't need anyone to socialize with. Though the days were long and Harry knew he would get sick of the routine sooner or later. 

The morning whistle sounded and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, he still wasn't use to being rudely woken up by such a loud, unpleasant sound. He had barely just fallen asleep half an hour ago, rushing to get up and find his toothbrush. He wet the bristles and squeezed the tube of toothpaste they provided to him on top of it, brushing his teeth as the blood rushed to his head from getting up and running around so fast. He kept the toothbrush in his mouth as he searched for his uniform, finding it and laying it out on the bed. 

The uniforms were odd, not something Harry would've expected from a prison, it was more of something you'd see at a private school. It consisted of a white undershirt printed with "ALCATRAZ" on the front with a button up navy shirt, along with gray slacks and black combat boots. After getting almost fully dressed, he buttoned up the dress shirt, gasping at a loud knock of metal from behind him. 

He turned around to an old man, scowling at him through the bars, "You're late. You were suppose to be in the mess hall two minutes ago." 

"I'm sorry, I-" 

"I'll take care of it, Jeff." Liam's calming voice was heard, patting the old man on the back. 

"Okay, but if you don't get your shit together, Styles-" 

"I said I'll take care of it." Liam interrupted, more assertive this time as the man left with a glare. 

Harry just stood there, staring at him as Liam pulled the clutch and opened the jail cell, "Don't just fucking stand there, hurry up." Liam barked. 

"Sorry, sorry." Harry breathed out, rinsing off his tooth brush and tying his boots before exiting the cell. 

"What's going on, guy?" Liam asked Harry quietly, pretending he wasn't having a conversation with him as he nodded hello to a prison guard they passed while pacing down the long hall of cells, "You've been doing good your first week, what's the deal?" 

"I haven't any sleep. Haven't slept in a couple nights." Harry responded, staring straight forward. 

"What's going on?" Liam asked again. 

"The beds are hard and I'm always freezing. I'm afraid an inmate is going to make their way into my cell and I won't wake up. I can't- I hate this place, Liam." Harry spoke, staring at his feet now. 

"You can't be doing this. I can't save you all the time. I shouldn't even be talking to you as I am now, I could lose my job. Do you want me to get fired?" 

Harry shook his head. 

"Then don't act like a fool and do what you are told. Get some sleep and wake up well rested tomorrow, please." Liam finished as they walked into the mess hall, all eyes on them, "You have fifteen minutes left to eat, hurry up." 

He shoved Harry forward towards the food bar, grabbing a tray and forcing it in his hands before walking to his position of guarding the doorway. Harry stepped forward, holding out his tray as something that looked like eggs was plopped onto it, along with sausage and a slice of bread. He grabbed a cup of coffee before making his way to a table, struggling to find one which probably took three minutes of his time. He settled on the other side of a table full of weird looking buff guys, who stared at him the whole time he ate. 

"Hey." A voice spoke from across Harry and he lifted his head to see a man sitting in front of him, and he had no idea how long he had been sitting there, or if he just got there. 

"Morning." Harry greeted with a smile. 

"Why are you eating that crap? Just eat the bread and the sausage, who knows if those eggs are even cooked, the inmates make them." The man informed, flipping Harry's metal tray around to the side with the bread and sausage. 

"It's not bad." Harry shrugged and the man laughed. 

"It's radioactive." The man joked, "What's your name?" 

"'M Harry." Harry introduced himself, reaching his hand out for the man to shake. 

"Zayn." The man replied, taking Harry's hand in his and giving it a firm shake, "Why're you in here?" Harry cleared his throat. "I didn't mean to pry." 

Harry shook his head, "No, it's fine. I just- yeah, I've told so many people already." 

"Did you rob someone? Gamble?" 

Harry laughed at how innocent those crimes sounded compared to what the monster inside him had done, "No, no-"

"Beat your lady? Sell drugs?" Zayn continued to guess. 

Harry shook his head, "Murder." 

"Murder, eh?" The young man leaned back as he sipped from his coffee cup, "How many?" 

"Seventeen." 

Zayn nearly spit out his coffee, coughing and sputtering on it as Harry watched him, he was honestly sick of these reactions. 

"Seventeen? Seventeen counts? You? You fucking look seventeen." 

"I'm twenty-one," Harry spat, "now if you would excuse me." He began to get up from the bench when Zayn grabbed his forearm. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean- just, stay. I didn't mean to be a prick." 

"You're alright." Harry muttered, sitting back down and stuffing the crust of his bread in his mouth. 

Zayn folded his hands on top of the table, "So, why did you-" The whistles sounded again and Zayn just bit his lip, "Come on, let's go get in line so we can do the same shit." 

Harry laughed quietly at Zayn's comment, because that's exactly what the labor was. Shit. As he walked behind him to the lines, he observed the man. He was a tad bit shorter than him, yet almost everyone was. His head was shaved on one side with the rest of his hair pushed to the other. He had a slight stubble and tattoos that covered his forearms, which showed with his rolled up sleeves. He had hazel eyes and sharp features. That jawline- oh man that jawline. Harry could swear if he dared to reach his hand out to touch the bone it would slice his hand. He was brought out of his thoughts when Zayn turned around and wrapped his hand around the back of Harry's neck slightly, ushering him in front of him into the line. They stood in line for a couple moments before Harry felt Zayn's fingers in the waistline of his pants and he nearly jumped away, "Whoa, hey, the hell you doing?" 

"Your shirt." Zayn responded, his tone unamused and almost annoyed, "It needs to be tucked in. Come here." Harry couldn't help the blush that covered his cheeks from pure, utter embarrassment, "There you go." 

"Thanks?" Harry questioned himself, adjusting his shirt a little bit just to where it was comfortable for him. 

Zayn responded with only a small smile as they waited for instructions from the guards at the front of the line, "You men will be working in the tailor shop today, making shirts and shoes for other inmates. Follow me." 

Harry looked over his shoulder at Zayn who tilted his head back with an exaggerated sigh at the orders. He chuckled and followed the rest of the prisoners forward and out of the mess hall. They made their way down dirt roads to a building on the west side of the island, which was the tailor shop. 

Once they got there they were given directions and sat on stools in front of tables with sewing machines and plenty of guards behind them, probably because they're scared someone might take the needle to someone's neck, which wouldn't be such a bad idea. Harry just stared at the machine, clueless as to what to do with it or how to even turn it on. 

"You know how to sew?" Zayn asked, taking some fabric from the upper side of the table and placing it under the machine. 

Harry shook his head, "Only by hand. Taught myself a while ago..." 

-

"Hold still!" Harry snapped, sitting on top of a young man who laid across the carpeted floor, which was soaked with blood. He had his knees planted into the floor on either side of the man, who's name he couldn't remember for the life of him, "I said hold still." 

The man's muffled cries and Harry's panted breathing and grunts were the only sounds that filled the room as he pulled the needle through the man's upper lip, "Beautiful." 

He tied the knot and set the needle with the extra thread attached to it on top of the coffee table and stood up, wiping his own mouth off with the back of his wrist as he stared down at his work. His hands were smeared with blood all the way up to mid-forearm and he even got a little bit on his white shirt, which he will have to burn later, what a shame. He stared down at the man on the floor who was on the verge of unconscious from the extreme loss of blood. The man's lips were sewn shut by dual duty thread and Harry's smile slowly left his face, "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry. You were being too loud, I'm so sorry." 

-

"Interesting. I'd love to know how to hand sew." Zayn spoke up and Harry turned his head to smile at him. 

"Maybe I could teach you sometime." Harry offered, his voice shaking yet innocent as he casually wiped the very little sweat off his forehead.


	5. All Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updating two chapters bc I forgot to update omg

Three pairs of dress shirts and two pairs of slacks later, Zayn and Harry leaned against the wall of the bell tower, on their second break of the day. Harry took a drag of a cigarette before handing it back to Zayn with a long exhale of smoke and Zayn did the same. The strong breeze blew both their hair in every which direction, but neither of them bothered to do anything about it. Though it was cloudy, they both still squinted, observing their surroundings and the people around them. 

"You know," Harry started, breaking the silence, "you never told me what you were convicted for." Zayn looked up from his feet at him. He blew smoke towards Harry, but the wind took it away in another direction and it almost looked as if it were creeping out the side of his lips. 

"And?" He questioned. 

"Are you going to tell me?" 

"Ugh, please Harry," Zayn waved his hand, gesturing Harry to stop talking, "please, not now." 

Harry frowned, "Is it really that big of a deal?" 

Zayn shook his head with a slightly pouted lower lip, "Nah." then another drag, "'S just a long story." 

"Then just summarize it for me. I don't need the story, just tell me what you did." 

"Burned my ex-girlfriends house down." Zayn blurted out, quite bluntly at that and almost shrugged it off as if it was no big deal. 

Harry choked on smoke, "You what?" He wheezed out between coughing and sputtering, "She didn't get hurt did she? Did she die?"

"Whole family was in there. Goners." Zayn paused for a second then a slight smile lifted the corners of his lips, "Shame. She was a good fuck." Then another second, "Her sister was too." 

"That's so fucked." Harry shook his head, unamused as Zayn snickered as if it were funny. 

"Oh, shut up. You act like you didn't fucking murder seventeen poor souls. I only murdered five. At least I don't eat people." 

"What?!" Harry nearly yelled, "I don't fucking eat people." 

"Never said you did." Zayn hummed, tilting his head back against the wall and Harry wanted to rip his throat out, "How much longer do we have?" 

"Mm, about four." 

"Hours?" 

"No, you fucking idiot. Minutes." Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Sheesh."

"Relax, Curly, I was joking. Follow me." And with that, Zayn was off the wall and walking through the recreational yard in which they had to dodge balls and other objects to the near edge of the cliff next to another chained fence.

"You think you could survive that jump?" Zayn questioned and Harry shrugged as they both looked down at the dark blue water.

"It's pretty steep. Who knows if there's probably rocks below the water, wouldn't try it." 

"So...you don't think there's any rocks down there?" Zayn questioned as Harry just gazed down at the waves. 

"Nah, it doesn't look-" Harry was cut off when Zayn shoved him and Harry stumbled forward against the fence, almost knocking it over, or at least that's what Harry thought.

"Dude!" Harry ran back behind Zayn, "The fuck are you doing?" 

Zayn was laughing his head off but managed to wheeze out, "Playing around." 

"You can't do that shit man, you're a criminal." Harry spat, holding his chest and trying to catch his breath. 

"And what are you?" Zayn stomped his cigarette into the ground before they were called back to work. 

-

Both of them laughed their heads off as they sat on either side of the mess hall table, Harry leaning over his food, a laughing mess. 

"My hair isn't even that long!" He spoke between gasps of laughter and snorts that sounded as if they came from a ten year old boy. 

"Oh please, it could tie my noose." Zayn joked with a smile on his face that could light up the whole room as he shoved a piece of meat in his mouth.

After a few more moments Harry finally settled down, wiping his eyes and catching his breath as he felt the pain in his abdomen, "Fuck man." He sighed happily, licking mashed potatoes off his spoon. 

Zayn observed the younger boy for a couple moments before setting his fork down, "Don't you just want to leave?" 

Harry swirled the food around on his tray as he leaned forward against the table with his forearm, "What do you mean?" 

Zayn thought for a second, "Like, this hell hole. This island. Prison. Everything." 

Harrys' worry line was prominent between his eyebrows as he pressed the spoon to his pink lips, "I'm not sure I understand what-" 

"Let's escape this place, Harry."


End file.
